


i wanna dance with somebody

by coupe_de_foudre



Category: Justified
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Boyd is a huge sap, Dancing, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Pre-Canon, and raylan pretends to hate it but we all know he loves it really, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-10
Updated: 2020-05-10
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:55:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24109339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coupe_de_foudre/pseuds/coupe_de_foudre
Summary: “You sound like a cat hung out to dry.” Raylan complained, but Boyd just laughs.“Shut up, boy.”
Relationships: Boyd Crowder/Raylan Givens
Comments: 8
Kudos: 25





	i wanna dance with somebody

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally just supposed to be a short fic about Boyd loving/making fun of Raylan's ungelled hair (because it's so much better than when he slicks it all back, let's be honest) but then I got listening to 80s songs for inspiration and this happened instead...
> 
> If they seem ooc I apologise, this is my first time writing either of these two xD

Boyd ripped open the truck's door just at the song began to kick in, static crackling through the old radio that Raylan had given the Crowder boy for his latest birthday. 

“No.” Raylan groaned, already knowing what was about to happen. Which meant he also knew it was inevitable. That wasn’t going to stop him from complaining, though.

“Awe, now c’mon, Raylan.” Boyd drawled, lips curling up into a wolfish grin that was all teeth and no bite. Leaning against the open door, hip jutted out and one hand already outstretched towards Raylan, Boyd looked the epitome of confidence.

The second-hand truck creaked under Raylan as he shifted his weight, rolling his eyes at his friend. The truck had been a gift (of sorts) from Boyd's father – though only because the man had earned himself a much newer, much better vehicle. It had been slightly worse for wear by the time Boyd came to own it, but that hadn’t put him off; taking to fixing it up himself with his own hard-earned money and scrap material he came across.

It was hardly a truck anybody would envy, but it was Boyd's through and through and that’s all that mattered. 

Boyd makes a grab for Raylan’s hand as the chorus starts up, lacing their fingers together and tugging until Raylan is stumbling out of the truck. His sneakers skid on the still damp mud of the creek, but Boyd steadies him with a firm hand on his hip, thumb accidently digging into a finger shaped bruise he'd left behind the night before.

“Ohhh, I wanna dance with somebody!” Boyd sung, or rather wailed (Boyd may be good at many things but singing was not one of them), twirling Raylan under their entwined hands with a gleeful laugh. He had to go onto his toes to give Raylan room to actually duck under them since he’s at least an inch shorter than him, but it was second nature now and they both moved without needing to plan where to step.

“You sound like a cat hung out to dry.” Raylan complained, but Boyd just laughs again (a laugh that's like dynamite, loud and explosive and runs through your veins leaving a tingling in it's place). 

“Shut up, boy.” he says, dipping Raylan with ease and following shortly after. His arm is holding them up, strong around Raylan’s waist, his face now inches from Raylan's. A strand of hair covers Raylan’s eyes and he huffs, watching as it flutters out his way. 

Boyd smirks and Raylan figures he's about to make another comment about his untamed hair but – ever the Crowder that he is – he takes him by surprise as he closes the distance between them to steal a kiss. 

It’s not like most of their kisses; wet and heated and full of passion. It’s slow and sweet and Boyd slips his tongue past Raylan’s parted lips tasting like stolen moonshine and his mama's apple pie. Moaning into the kiss, Raylan hooks his arms around Boyd’s neck and tugs at the boy's lower lip, nipping with his teeth sharp enough to draw blood. Running his tongue over the same spot, Raylan hardly notices how Boyd manoeuvres them from their mid-dip until his back is being pressed into the cool metal of the side of the truck. 

The song slowly fades out, barely audible from inside the truck, but it’s not like either of them are paying it much mind.

_“Clock strikes upon the hour-”_

Boyd's foot is already tapping on the cheap lino in their newly renovated kitchen before Raylan recognises the song. Raylan can’t help but smile as Boyd chuckles into his glass of bourbon. With a small shake of his head, drying a dish but mindfully putting it down on the counter in time for Boyd to grab his wrist and pull him flush against his chest.

He can feel Boyd's heartbeat through the thin materials of their shirts, throwing the cloth from his hands and hoping it lands somewhere mildly clean at least. Boyd smells of soap and apples from the shampoo he insists on buying, his unruly hair still damp from their earlier shower. 

Boyd sings, falling in time with the chorus perfectly although he's not much of a better singer than when they were kids, spinning Raylan out at arm's length just to tug him back again. 

Raylan can’t help the laugh that escapes him when Boyd slides his hands down to his ass and squeezes before burying his nose into the crook of his neck and inhaling deep, leaving a lingering kiss to the sensitive skin there. It’s inches above a fading bruise, red and purple and hidden just below the collar of his shirt – just out of eyesight from Art and his knowing looks. 

Boyd then brings his hands up Raylan's back, warmth from his palms seeping into the sore muscles beneath them, as they continue to sway together in the middle of their kitchen. Boyd's humming along with the song, finally sinking long fingers into Raylan's ungelled hair with a smile bright enough to blind a man.

“I like it like this,” Boyd murmurs, nosing at the shell of his ear and his hot breath causing the hairs of Raylan’s neck to stand up. His lips ghost over an old scar just below Raylan’s cheekbone. “You should leave it down more often.”

Raylan groans with his disagreement, leaning into the soft touch nonetheless. “It’s hideous. Almost as bad as your bird nest.”

The laugh that leaves Boyd is light and carefree. He presses their lips together in a sweet-like-honey kiss, eyelashes fluttering over Raylan’s skin and sending shivers down his spine. 

“That’s unfair, baby.” Boyd smirks, ruffling his hand through Raylan’s hair with an all too knowing look in his eye. 

Raylan huffs, pushing at Boyd’s chest, but there’s a smile playing on his lips and he wastes no time bringing Boyd back in again; his own hands sliding into the back pockets of Boyd's jeans and earning him a smirk and an arched eyebrow for his efforts.

“Do you even own a comb?” Raylan continues, but he’s hardly looking to offend. Not when Boyd's lips are only inches away, his eyes staring unashamedly at him. Raylan watches as the golden embers shine in those familiar eyes, finds himself melting into them.

Boyd chuckles, the sound warm and comforting and vibrating where Raylan is pressed against his chest. He brushes his nose over the two-day-old stubble on his jaw.

“I thought you liked my wild outlaw looks?”

Raylan rolls his eyes but he’s smiling wider now and there’s no way to hide it. He dips his head, teeth nipping at Boyd’s lower lip before tugging it into his own mouth, sinking them both into a slow kiss. Boyd is quick to return it, deepening it by sliding his tongue into the space they’re sharing, the lingering taste of bourbon and stale smoke and just _Boyd_ taking over. 

Raylan sighs into the kiss, their dance long forgotten as he focuses on drawing what little sounds he can out of the man in his arms. The one man he’s never been able to refuse, his husband, the love of his life.

Kissing Boyd still sends butterflies through his stomach just like back when they were foolish kids messing around by the creek with a beaten up truck and nothing to do, dancing in the mud surrounded by static music and trees. Only now, he gets to do it whenever and wherever he pleases, their shared home included.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading!! And yes, I strongly believe Boyd loves to blast out music and sing along at the top of his voice even if he's not the best singer in the county.
> 
> Come shout about Justified with me over on [Tumblr](https://a-beautiful-struggle-of-life.tumblr.com/)!!


End file.
